fried mash potatoes

12.17.2012

Laxman brings the ‘adults’ their six am coffee and wakes me up with the lure of the beverage but I have to leave the room.  A beautiful as usual sunrise.  Prem Maya asks if I ever tire of taking photos of a landscape she’s seen all her life and which frankly sometimes looks the same.  You never know.  The last month’s light is rich and ever changing. 

The two skinny German girls take fashion photo ops at the end of the terrace.  I should light up the hookah now, right?  Suraksha discovers I am out of chocolate so I give her a hundred rupees for a box of choco-pies.  Hmmm, when you’re dire.  I wonder if I was supposed to get change.

The lower back on the left side is hurting, stretches and smoking ought to help.  So?  How many days, dope-head?  Feeling a little more stupid every day we inch closer.  The two Nepali shysters with the pretty girl friends are now at the end of the terrace.  Should I close my window?  Not.  Should I hookah for them? What’s to gain from doing anything laced with hostility?  And where is the hostility coming from, an invasion of your private public space?  Shmuck.

An apple lassi with crushed mountain flavored datura, I think there were a dozen seeds or so, and I have the utmost confidence nothing will happen.  Time noted: 10:38 on a fine morning, warm in the sun, bloody cold in the shade. Two local couples in rooms one and two are now ordering.  Maya sits and tries to persuade them she has dal bhat ready though we may have eaten more than the four would eat. 

Great fatigue this afternoon, Didi cleans the rooms on her own today.  No affects from the not ready for sacred seed.  Oh well.  Indigestion instead. 

Maya readies herself to go to her parent’s home in the valley below Naudana, Laxman will take her on bike, though tourists keep coming in, sitting, drinking beer, taking photos, lounging.  I’ve been given instructions on making noodle soup for Suraksha.  Well, should we go eat somewhere else?  No, I know how to make soup.

When three hundred is too much for a beer, boy, you’ve been on the road too long.  The Dutch.  Isn’t there anyone in Europe with money?  Two seventy five inclusive.  Yes, I would like a beer.

Steve Winwood I haven’t heard in years.  Don’t have any Traffic in storage.  I like youtube this afternoon. 

Well, now that I’m situated real comfortable in the dining room and no one is going anywhere fast, a lite of the chillum because I would like to speak to an American or Canadian on this day.  Thoughts and talks of comfort, of familiarity, anything, Lord.  How many days left?

Of course if I am still on this planet and so is everyone else and we continue to kill each other, well, what will I have left to understand all the coincidences and the three day purgation, Jesus Joseph and Mary, all that was external spilled out of my head and became visible?  I made the whole thing up?  Even the Coldplay coincidence?  Wow mother nature you can sure blankety blank someone’s head.

We must change to end the evil.

Yes we must.  And since humanity began humanity has tried and sometimes we can stop evil and sometimes we can’t.  But really ask yourself the hard one.  Am I willing to give up this life for the new one?  What?  You don’t have a choice?  Sure you do.  You got about three days to decide.

What time, John, do you expect something to happen?  If I knew I probably would have already said so.  In the purgation I wrote a time on the floor: 12:37.  pm? am?  I don’t remember its significance other than it has to tie in with an arrival. 

The parents are gone, Beem stopped by for a minute.  His knees are troubling him.  I hope two Advil help.  Suraksha is in the tv room with her new best friend Padmina.  The Dutch have departed, as has Didi with the large empty box on her back.  See you, I’ve locked up, except for room seven.  Two locals in room one, I hope they know the kitchen’s closed.  They do, begone men below and find some noodles there.

Internet service men-boys are supposed to arrive some time tonight.  It is almost eight.  Suraksha and Padmina dodge between rooms staying busy when they gave up on me for their source of entertainment. Laxman returned in time to start the cooking. And it is quiet.  My feet hurt and the locals in room one just walked in, the movement of stones from their shoes give ‘em away.  

I know this writing has been nothing more than for me to stay busy, what would I rather do?  Who knows, some food that takes me back to childhood.  Fried mash potatoes I can do here.  BTL on egg bread I cannot.  A Molson I cannot.  Any beer now it’s too cold. 

Tomorrow Pokhara, I should go to city center first, stupid brownie mix, liquor cheaper at BB than Lakeside?  Probably but not by much.  Camels? Razors?  Chocolate?  So, what do I really need.